


How To Break a Fever

by RiskyWrites



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Blow Jobs, Bottom Steve Rogers, M/M, Pining Steve Rogers, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Sick Steve Rogers, Snowballing, Top Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21880468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiskyWrites/pseuds/RiskyWrites
Summary: Steve's sick again, and the fever won't break. Bucky has to get creative with his solutions.Cover art byNospheratt
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 15
Kudos: 201
Collections: Stucky Secret Santa 2019





	How To Break a Fever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DepressingGreenie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DepressingGreenie/gifts).



The sun felt warm on his face and he turned towards it. Three days had passed since the fever had started, but today felt bright and full of hope. Today would be the day. Today he would shake off the crystallis of sickness and emerge as something new. Maybe not a butterfly, he wasn’t  _ that _ foolish. But maybe if he was lucky a moth, maybe one with fuzzy antennae. He could do it. He  _ would _ do it. He would break free and be strong, work an entire shift restocking at Mr Johnson’s grocers, come home in time to cook dinner and then even finish off one of the drawings for the advertising company before deadline. He was stronger than his deceptive body made him out to be. He was stronger than this sickness. He was…

Sore all over the moment he tried to move. Steve let out a low groan as the nausea started to crawl back up his throat, but he forced it down. Every muscle hurt, every joint and bone ached and his chest burned from coughing. But still he sat up, bundling the blankets around his shoulders as he summoned the energy to get up and start his routine. A shadow passed over the morning sunlight and he could hear footsteps coming towards him, soft on the cold wood floor. His skin felt on fire, as if the movement had woken the embers inside of him. Still he shivered against the cold of the room. Steve stared at his feet on the floor, his soles were so cold he couldn’t even register the chill. He closed his eyes for a moment to push back the headache starting to prickle in his skull and when he opened them, there were two more feet before him. He squinted in momentary confusion.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Bucky asked, his tone was light, almost playful in its chiding, but it was chiding nonetheless. Steve immediately bristled.

“Getting ready for work,” he replied, his own voice harder than it needed to be. He knew what battle was coming and he was determined to win, even if his words came out nasally and his throat lent a rasp to them. He coughed and his chest burned from the cold air.

“Uh huh,” He heard and the rough palm was under his chin, tilting his face up to look at him. Bucky’s skin was so warm yet so cool at the same time and it took every ounce of strength not to tilt his cheek into it. Steve looked up and his eyes met those ice blue, filled with concern and something intense that he couldn’t place. His heart skipped a beat. His blood felt hot for a reason other than fever and he didn’t realize he was holding his breath until his lungs began to twitch for another cough.

“You’re still warm. This damn fever hasn’t broken yet?” Bucky asked, and before Steve could open his mouth to answer, both of those strong hands, calloused from work but still capable of such gentleness, were on either side of his head drawing him closer. Full, pink lips pressed to his forehead and for just a moment, just an instant everything felt right in the world again. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut, relaxing under the contact, his hands instinctively reaching up to rest against Bucky’s sides. His brain refused to work properly, and even though he  _ knew _ that this wasn’t a kiss, his heart refused to listen.  _ He’s just checking your temperature. Don’t get excited. Ma used to do it just like this, his ma did it the same, why would he do it different? Don’t find shapes in the clouds, Rogers. _

Still, it made his heart race, and where his lips pressed he felt so much better. There was healing in that touch and he longed desperately for that attention to be just a little lower. Just a couple of inches, just let him feel that healing touch against his own lips and --

“You’re still sick. Let me hear your chest.” Bucky didn’t wait for permission, one hand pushed Steve onto his back, resting his ear against his chest. Steve wasn’t sure what he’d hear over the pounding of his heart. He struggled to keep his mind on his goals. Get up. Don’t think of Bucky over him like this. Get dressed. Try not to think about those lips against his skin and the hands on his body. Walk to work in the cold. Stop thinking about how much warmer they could be together. Right now. Under the blankets.

“Breathe.” Bucky commanded softly, gently pinching his side. Steve squirmed and laughed despite himself, ticklish. But he drew a deep breath in and out. Then another. In and out. It burned but didn’t start a coughing jag. “No rattling. Thank God for small miracles,” Bucky said as he slowly straighted up off of him. 

“Good. Then I’m going to work,” Steve said again, again expecting a battle. 

“Like hell you are, Stevie. You have a fever.” When the only response was a glare, Bucky scoffed. “You’re not going anywhere but back to bed and that’s an order.”

Steve sat up, but it took effort and both arms to maneuver back upright. “I’m better. You said so yourself. Just now -- I  _ heard _ you.”

“ _ No _ , I said that your lungs sounded okay. That’s not even in the same ballpark as ‘better’, Stevie.” 

“All I need is fresh air and --”

“It is  _ snowing _ , Sunshine,” Steve usually hated nicknames, but coming from Bucky they had a way of soothing irritation instead of causing it. It was like a balm for bruises he didn’t know he had. “The last thing  _ you _ need is ‘fresh air’.”

“I’m  _ fine. _ Once I get movin’ everything will be copacetic.”   
  
Bucky rose, tapping his lower lip in thought as if considering that idea. “Well. Maybe there is  _ one _ way.” He said, glancing at Steve. His tone had shifted from commanding to playful, hard to honeyed. Steve smelled a trap. But he took the bait anyhow.

“One way what?”

“Well, we gotta bring that fever down. Kill the fever, kill the cold, right? Right.”

“Right…” Steve tentatively agreed, wondering where he was going with this. 

“You let me give you another ice bath and bring the fever down and I will personally walk you to work.”

“No.” Steve said firmly, already shivering against the idea. “ _ No _ . It didn’t work last time, you need to stop listening to those canheads you work with.”

“It cooled you way down though didn’t it?” Bucky asked with a lopsided grin.

“Buck it turned me into an icicle!”

“And icicles don’t have fevers. You wanna go to work?” His eyes were sharp and predatory, he knew there was no way Steve would agree to those terms. Not after how miserable it made him last time. 

“Buck I’m serious.  _ No _ . It ain’t summer anymore, I’ll freeze to death. And it  _ hurt _ , Buck.”

“I’ll warm ya back up,” Bucky purred, those dark brows raising, turning on him with a smile Steve couldn’t quite place. Was that hunger? Or something he didn’t dare name? Steve felt his brain stutter and he fumbled for words. His jaw moved up and down, trying to find something -- anything to counter with, but Bucky was just grinning again. “Well, then I guess there’s no work.”

“Bucky --  _ James _ . I gotta work. We need the money and you --”

“One more day won’t kill us, there’s plenty of jobs,  _ it’ll be fine.” _ Steve glowered at Bucky and his stupid, beautiful, lying mouth. “I’d rather have to scrimp a little more than have to figure out what to do  _ without _ your tiny, stubborn ass.”

Steve paused, studying those pale blue eyes, the way the smile didn’t seem to reach them. The way his dark brows knit just so, in a way they only did when he was concentrating or worried. There was real fear hidden behind that grin. The fear that only came out plain when he was bleeding or laid up in a hospital bed. It was enough to make Steve concede defeat. For him. Though he would never admit it, Bucky was the only one who could make him back down. Bucky was the only one he absolutely couldn’t hurt. “...One more day. But that’s all.”

Bucky grinned. “Good. Then we’ll do the tried and true method until I can figure out something else to snuff that fire in your head.”

It took Steve a moment to realize that he didn’t mean the prickling ache that had started in his chest, but instead the actual fever. He watched Bucky as he moved around their tiny apartment, reluctantly slumping his shoulders as he gave out one raw cough after another. Though it may have been a joke to Buck, the idea of losing him… of hurting him so deeply terrified him to his core. He didn’t care about his own health and definitely not his comfort. He cared only that he wasn’t robbing that beautiful face of its smile. All at once the aches came back, the fatigue, and he wanted nothing more than to beg Bucky to stay home and lay with him. To be cuddled up against his warm, strong body and hear his heartbeat. To be lulled to the sleep he desperately craved by the rumble of his voice. But when he saw the bottle of medicine come out, his nose immediately crinkled up.

“Come on, deal’s a deal.” Buck said, bouncing the spoon between two fingers.

“No, I hate that stuff.”

“Stevie, it makes you feel better.”

“It makes me pass out.”

“And you feel better when you’re sleepin’, don’t you?” Buck said with a grin. “Besides, it doesn’t always make you pass out. Here.” He came closer and Steve held his ground, not because he wanted to be ornery, but because he wanted to feel his warmth. Just for a moment. Just a little longer before he was left alone in the drafty apartment. Bucky bent and scooped up his ankles, rubbing his cold feet for a moment before tucking his legs back under the blankets. Then he took Steve’s sketchbook and a pencil and offered it to him. 

“Here’s the deal. Take your medicine. Do your warmups. You can spend the day working on your advertising thing for cake or dogfood or --”

“It’s pep tabs.”

“-- or whatever. Really? Whatever. It won’t be a loss then, right? You might not be puttin’ cans on shelves, but you’re getting in good work, am I right?”

Steve sighed, scooting over as Bucky nudged him aside and sat down beside him on the bed. “You’re right…”

“I’m always right. Open.” He poured a spoonful of the amber liquid and carefully brought it to Steve’s mouth. It tasted strong, like sharp alcohol and it both numbed and burned his throat on the way down. Both bitter and cloyingly sweet, he smacked his lips and grimaced as Bucky got up to start the tea. 

“Aren’t you gonna be late?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be warming up? I can stick around a few minutes and make sure it doesn’t get worse.” He offered.

Steve sighed and started about his sketches and doodles. It was hard not to draw that smirk that irritated him so much, those lips that made the fever the last thing on his mind. His chest ached for a completely different reason now, and he hurt in such a way that he just wanted to curl up under the blankets and hide. Why did Bucky have to be so good to him? Why did he have to make him love him so hard. Bucky, who every dame fawned over. Bucky, who could do no wrong. Bucky who made the very sun shine and who Steve was convinced hung the moon. Bucky who gave up so very much of himself just to take care of such a prickly little shit like Steve. Bucky, the only one who could smooth his spikes down and calm his fury. 

Bucky whose touch could make him human again…

He jumped a little when the mattress shifted beside him again and Bucky was crawling up under the covers. Steve still wasn’t entirely used to this closeness, and he hoped that the novelty never wore off. But it was  _ only logical _ , Buck had said, to share a bed when it was cold. It would save them on coal. And he was feeling very cold lately. Bucky had said a lot of things… A lot of things that made dangerous sense in the dark of night. A lot of things that made his heart pound stronger and his brain feel like static. But he shouldn’t be thinking about those things right now. He should be working. It wouldn’t be a wasted day if he could get some work done. But the medicine was making his head foggy already. It made his tongue loosen and the chains around his heart start to slacken. It made it harder to fight all these things that made so much sense. Like the feel of his heat in the cold. The softness of his lips on his skin. The strength in those hands and God he didn’t care if it was a sin, he wanted to be enveloped in him and taste him and feel him and have that weight pressed against him, keeping him safe on the ground.

He drew a deep breath. Then another. He could fight through it. He’d done it before. 

“How bout I read to you while we wait on the tea?” Bucky asked, his voice soft and gentle. Steve’s eyes were feeling heavy and he leaned into Buck for his warmth. Propriety was out the window. He needed his heat and the feel of his muscles. He set his pencil down on his book, glancing at the sketch of hands. Bucky’s hands. The ones he loved so much, the ones whose touch he needed constantly, even if he denied himself it.

“Yeah, okay… White Fang?” He asked hopefully as he found his favorite spot right under his arm, nestled against his chest where he could feel the rhythm of his breathing, the rumble of his voice.

“Yeah, sure, Stevie…” Bucky answered gently. He leaned over to find the book, tucked away just under the bed. It was a favorite, the cover worn and the pages crumpled. “...You know. You’ve got a tell.”

“A tell?” Steve asked, drawing a deep breath. It didn’t hurt quite so bad. His aching muscles were starting to relax. 

“Mhm… You only fight me when you’re real sick… When you’re just feelin’ like crud you don’t get so prickly about it. And you sure as shit don’t ask me to read you White Fang.”

Steve tried to bristle but he was too tired. “Hey.  _ You _ offered to read.”

“I did,” Bucky acknowledged with a slight tilt of his head. “But you only ask for White Fang when you feel bad.”

Steve grunted softly, his cheek nestled in the warmth of his shirt. He could feel the clean linen, smell his aftershave and his natural scent. “Shut up, jerk…” He grumbled softly and he felt Bucky’s chuckle rumble in his chest. An arm slipped around him, ropey with growing muscles. Muscles that were starting to strain the seams of shirts that were only a few seasons away from threadbare. An arm that was so strong around him he felt sure he was protected from anything. Even his own rebellious body. He had to stay awake. He had to stay conscious today and finish his commission. He had to earn some scratch to buy something real swell for Bucky, to make up for all the trouble he put him through. To thank him because he didn’t know any other way. 

His eyes started to burn and he felt them well with hot tears. His chest hurt and he didn’t know how to make it stop. It wasn’t a cough anymore, it wasn’t the stupid sickness or the fever or the headache. It was something he didn’t dare name. If he named it, he was doomed. If he named it, there was no escaping it. Instead he buried his face against Bucky’s ribs and tried to mask the soft sniffle as a cough. 

The strong arm tightened around him, pulling him close, right where he needed to be. A warm cheek rested against his forehead, nuzzling gently into his hair and he heard the words echoed in his chest as he started to read. “Dark spruce forest frowned on either side of the frozen waterway,” Bucky recited gently, and his fingers petting blond hair made Steve’s eyes start to lull shut. “The trees had been stripped by a recent wind of their white covering of frost, and they seemed to lean towards each other, black and ominous in the fading light.” Steve’s fingers tangled in Bucky’s shirt. He should be at work, not playing nursemaid for the fourth time this week. Why was he so good to him? Steve’s body started to feel heavy, but the question bounced quietly in his skull. Why. Why. Why.

“A vast silence reigned over the land.” He felt the whisper more than he heard it. And under a blanket of ‘whys’, he felt something release and he relaxed. 

The darkness surrounded him like an old friend, the steady rhythm of Bucky’s heart set the pace for his own. He was warm. And he was safe. And he was loved. Such a rare and novel sensation, he had no strength to do anything but admire it, reach for it, wrap his long, graphite-stained fingers around it and hold it close. He was loved, and he didn’t have the energy to question it. He was safe, and warm, and all he could do was embrace it. Steve held it close to his cheek and slept.

When he woke, the sunlight outside was brighter and he was alone. Under his palm was his sketchbook, neatly closed with his pencil and White Fang resting on the cover. He made a noise that sounded similar to Bucky’s name, but only the quiet of the apartment answered him. A chair was pulled close to the side of the bed, their chipped teapot and a mug stained with paint sitting on the seat. “Drink Me” a note leaned against the side read. Steve closed his eyes again. Just for a few more minutes. 

He finished both of his commissions and turned them into his clients, being rewarded with handfuls of cash that exceded his original quote. The sun was bright and just so warm, it was impossible to tell it was winter any more. With all his money he bought the best cuts of steaks, a thick warm sweater for Bucky and watermelon. He got tired of walking, so he flew instead, and the apartment was full of angels. Angels with dark hair and pale eyes and smiles that made his heart flutter. He could hear their voices, but their words felt strange and sideways. Garbled and confused.

“Careful with the door, it likes to slam,” one of them said softly. Another voice replied softly, but it slid through the cracks before he could hear them. Stretching slowly, he groaned and peeled one eye open. The light outside was bright, the sun was at its zenith and his sketchbook lay untouched still under his hand. There were no steaks and no watermelon and no thick warm sweater for Bucky. Steve gave a soft mewl of disappointment and felt the mattress shift under him.

“Oh my sweet thing,” came a soft, maternal voice. He felt a warm hand on his cheek and opened his eyes again. It took a moment for him to register who he was seeing and Mrs Barnes was leaning down to press her lips to his forehead. He could smell the powder of her makeup and the soft spice of her perfume and relaxed under her gentle touch. 

“Oh Bucky, he’s still burning up. Have you called the doctor?”

Steve heard the hesitation and he felt it in himself. Doctors cost money that they didn’t have, and he’d already blown through most of their savings when he’d gotten the flu that summer. He knew Bucky wanted to, but they simply couldn’t afford it. “Not yet, ma. I got one more trick I wanna try to break the fever. And if that don’t work, then your soup will.” Steve could hear the sound of the stove lighting and he slowly sat up to lean on Bucky’s mother. 

She made a soft soothing sound to him, but he was just so tired. “What’s the trick, honey?” She called to her son.

“Don’t worry bout it. Here, Stevie.” Steve opened his eyes and saw the shimmer of blue, the warm bowl pushed into his hands. Still leaning on the older woman, he warmed his palms with the bowl and started to eat. The soup perked him up and warmed him inside. Buck’s strong hand ruffled his hair as he rose.

“Is it onion slices in his socks?” Winnie guessed.

“No, it’s not onion socks. That’s an old wives tale.”

“It worked when you were a boy. Oh Buck it’s not another ice bath is it?”

“No ice baths,” Steve protested as loudly as he could into the bowl. 

“No -- it worked.”   
  
“No it didn’t,” Steve stated, shooting him a warning look.

“Well your temper is back. No,” Bucky said, spreading both hands placatingly to the two on the bed. “It is  _ not _ an ice bath. Pinky swear.”

“So what is it?” HIs mother asked, tilting her head at her son.

Bucky removed the empty bowl, replacing it with lukewarm tea. He stalled for an answer. “Just somethin’ one of the guys mentioned. Look, if it works, then we’re golden but if it doesn’t then I just look real stupid  _ and _ gotta find a doctor. But it’s not an ice bath,” He straightened, retreating to the kitchen and returning with the bottle of medicine again. He locked eyes with Steve, daring him to fight. Steve considered it, but the battle would be too tiring, so he simply accepted the dosage and laid back down on the pillows.

“Thank you for the soup, Mrs Barnes.”

Her soft hand ran through his hair again. “I can’t let my boys go to war with a cold without ammunition,” she said, cupping his chin affectionately in her hand. He smiled at her and she smiled back. “If you’re not better tomorrow, call the doctor.” She commanded. Her eyes were the same color as her son’s, and had the same mix of gentleness and strength that he had grown to depend on so much.

Steve glanced at Bucky, and Bucky’s eyes mirrored his own worry. A doctor was out of the question, they simply didn’t have the money. But he saw Bucky’s mind working, coming up with a dozen different ways to  _ make _ it work. It made Steve’s heart flop, knowing that his best friend was so willing to sacrifice everything -- his health, his sanity, the money that should be going towards dates and entertainment, not to his infirmed idiot of a friend. He shook his head slightly, but saw the determination turn stony in his eyes. He  _ would _ find a way. 

“Alright. If it doesn’t work, I will.” He said, a tone of finality in his voice that left no room for argument. The two locked eyes and again, Steve felt himself backing down from the fight. Without being told, he laid back down and settled in to let the medicine do its job. The sound of their conversation lulled him and soon the darkness overtook again.

This time when he woke up, it was dark. There had been no dreams to tease him, just the lingering scent of soup on the stove and the bitter smell of cigarette smoke. Steve stretched and rolled over to better see the kitchen, startled to find a silhouette in the doorway. The cherry lit Bucky’s face a glowing crimson as he took a drag on his cigarette, leaning with one arm on the frame. Even in the darkness, Steve felt the intensity of that stare. 

“You’re awake…” Bucky said, and Steve could hear the slight slur in his voice. If not for the cigarette, he realized he’d likely smell the whiskey from where he laid. “That’s good… that’s good…” Buck murmured to himself, ashing the smoke onto the floor. Steve felt a pang of irritation that he’d have to sweep that up later.

“I am… What time is it?” He asked, slowly sitting up.

“Late enough,” Bucky muttered. The glow lit his face again and he breathed the smoke out through his teeth. “That fever still there?” He asked.

“Maybe…” Steve replied, a little wary now. “You said you had an idea of how to break it? It ain’t throwing me in a snowbank is it?”

Bucky chuckled, regarding the cherry of his smoke. “No. No it is  _ not _ throwing you in a snowbank.” He replied. Even in the darkness Steve felt keen icy eyes snap onto his face again. “...Tryin’ to decide how much you trust me.” He admitted, studying Steve’s face “It’s real….  _ Intense _ .” He said softly. 

“...I trust you, James Buck,” Steve breathed. He felt a tingle of fear, but under the hardness of that stare, it was exciting. Something shivered inside him and all he could do was watch Bucky. “Are you… Did you go drinking?”

“A little,” Bucky admitted. “Like I said… it’s real intense…” He was moving forward and Steve felt his heart start to race. There was a surge of adrenaline, as if he were in danger, but he couldn’t possibly feel threatened by this man. He felt the way he did in the moments before the first punch was thrown, but this was a fight he would gladly lose. Bucky flicked his smoke into the kitchen sink and stalked forward with a deadly purpose. There was something in his hand. 

“...How intense we talkin’ here, Buck?”

And then Bucky was at the side of the bed, tossing that thing up and down in his hand. It sounded like a small jar of some sort. “...You trust me?”

“Course I do, but you’re comin’ home smellin’ of liquid courage and acting cryptic, you givin’ me a reason not to?” Steve clipped at him. “Tell me your idea.”

Bucky chuckled. “Alright, Sunshine… A fevers happen for a reason, right? Your body wants to get real hot the fight off the whatever. So… If we get you hotter than the fever, then you don’t  _ need _ the fever any more. Right?” The mattress sagged where he sat, then again on Steve’s other side as he leaned over him, his hand pressing against his side. 

“Right,” Bucky was so close to him. He was just inches away and he could smell the whiskey and the smoke and the cold from outside still clinging to his skin and his hair. It made something stir, an ache, a pang, a feral need. He fought it back down. “So how you plan to get hotter than a --”

Bucky moved so fast that their teeth clacked together, so hard it was bruising and Steve felt all the blood leave his brain. Buck started to draw away, but Steve grabbed him, tangling his fingers in thick hair and drawing him back into the kiss, his tongue flicking against his lips to beg for entry. He felt the warmth of his mouth, the sweetness of his saliva, the taste of cigarette on his teeth and he couldn’t help but moan softly. Then there was a tug and a terrible absence when Bucky pulled away. For a moment he thought it was a dream again and he heard himself whimper. 

“Hang on-- just hang on, baby,” Bucky whispered in the dark, shuffling as he pulled his shirt off over his head, kicking off his boots and slipping under the warm covers to press his body right up against him. Arms wrapped around him and Steve felt himself be dragged right back into that embrace. He tangled himself up in it eagerly, hunting for his lips, missing, trying again and finding his mouth, feeling Bucky moan against his lips. 

He didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the medicine or if this was just some amazing fever dream but he wasn’t going to let go of it. Warm hands moved under the fabric of his night shirt, working the buttons with an expert touch and pulling it off of him. Steve didn’t have time to shiver as his skin was pulled to the warm chest, the kisses eager and chaotic. His teeth caught Buck’s bottom lip and nipped, Bucky’s found his neck and sucked on the skin he found there. Steve’s hips jerked upwards with an instinctual hunger and he let out a desperate mewl. He felt something swelling against his thigh and his own cock strained against his pajama pants. 

“You gotta trust me,” Bucky was panting, his kisses moving down from his neck to the sharp angle of his collarbone. “You gotta trust me.” His hands roamed over the ridges of his ribs, finding the curve of his waist and Steve wasn’t sure if the moan was Bucky’s or his own. 

“I trust you,” He panted in response. This was a dream. This has to be a dream, there was no way this was happening. He wasn’t this lucky, and as he felt the kisses move down over his sternum, the warm flick of a tongue over a nipple, leaving a trail of warm and cool down his stomach. His hips arched up, desperate for their own attention. He was straining, aching, desperate for relief, his fingers tangling in his hair and pushing him harder against flesh. 

Calloused fingertips brushed under the waist of his pants and tugged. He lifted his hips and felt himself stripped down, his cock hot and straining in the cool air. Bucky made a soft noise of appreciation, his hand moving slowly, gently, as if afraid to touch him. As if this moment would could break everything he had worked so hard for. It was in that very moment that it hit Steve. Bucky had wanted this as much as he did. He throbbed at the thought. 

He felt a grip that was not his own around himself and his breath came in a shuddering pant. Bucky’s thumb rolled up the underside of his shaft, rolling up over the curve of his head, playing with his slit in a way that brought a sinful sound from his throat. Something warm washed over his sensitive flesh and he felt a soft kiss touch his skin. The press of a warm tongue, and then after a shift on the mattress, he was enveloped in a warmth so sweet he thought he might die right there. Bucky’s tongue pressed up against him, massaging, exploring. He felt him moan around him and echoed the sound, his hips rocking up into his mouth, his hand pushing him further, deeper down on him.

Buck swallowed around him, his throat clicking as he took his entire length and Steve felt certain he had died. He had died and this was heaven, because there was no way he was this lucky. There was no way that this moment, lifted from his nightly fantasies could be real. He had dreamed of that tongue against him, the hot breath, the firm hands as he touched himself listening to Bucky in the shower. He had imagined this exact moment, with Bucky laying beside him in the cool of the evening every day for years. If he wasn’t dead now, he was about to die of sheer happiness.

Bucky’s hand moved away, and he heard the sound of the jar. A moment later, Buck moaned against him again and he felt something slippery press against his tight entrance. He gasped at first, but as Bucky slowly pressed the finger inside him, he drew Steve’s cock out of his mouth, licking the first few drops of precum off with a delighted purr. His hand took over where his mouth left off, panting as he looked up at him.

“Relax... Relax… Let me in…” Bucky breathed, his own hips rocking as he ground his aching cock into the mattress. Steve took a deep breath and felt slide deeper inside him, stretching him, filling him. His hands clawed at the sheets breathlessly as a second moved into him, Bucky’s free hand stroking him slowly, eyes fixated on Steve’s face. “You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous… You’re so fucking  _ pretty _ , Stevie. I wanna see what you look like when you cum.” He said, the slur still faint in his voice.

Steve felt Bucky thrusting into the matress between his legs, feeling that delicious fullness, arching his own hips up to drive his fingers deeper. This was so much better than anything he could do. This felt so much better than his own fingers or even that tapered candle he’d played with once. This simply couldn’t compare. 

“Bucky… Bucky wait…” He panted, tilting his head to look down at him. Bucky’s smile faded, his hands instantly stopping. Steve had never seen a man sober up so fast.

“Is -- I’m sorry. I’m sorry --” Buck started to say, but Steve reached down to grab his wrist before he pulled out.

“No -- Buck --”

“Stevie, I just --”

“Shut up, you walnut,” Buck let out a surprised laugh, and Steve writhed as he spoke, pleasuring himself on Bucky’s fingers. “I’m  _ trying _ to tell you I want  _ all _ of you, James Buck.”

“Oh.” Bucky said, freezing for a moment while his brain tried to make sense of what was being said. “ _ Oh! _ ” Suddenly he was grinning, drawing himself up to kiss Steve deeply, his tongue slipping between his lips. Steve could taste himself, moaning into his mouth as his own hand trailed down Bucky’s stomach. He could feel the ripple of his muscles under his skin, the way his flesh jumped and broke out into gooseskin at the coolness of his own fingertips. Steve’s fingers found their way around Bucky’s cock, surprised at how thick it felt. How long. How much bigger Bucky was than he had expected. His own cock throbbed in response. 

The kiss broke as he slowly stroked Bucky, Buck looking down at him and studying his eyes. “You’re sure you want this?” He whispered. Steve pushed himself up into the kiss, a messy, awkward jam of clicking teeth and desperate lips. 

“Don’t make me ask again, Buck,” He panted and that was all Bucky needed to hear. Fingers carefully slid out of him, and Steve whimpered in disappointment. He heard the click of the jar again and then Buck’s hands were hooked on his hips, dragging him down the bed to him as he Bucky loomed over his body. 

“Spread em,” Buck commanded, and as Steve shifted his legs, strong hands gripped his ass and lifted him up against him. He felt the swell of the head against his entrance and held his breath. “Breathe,” Bucky whispered to him, and he rocked forward. Steve’s hips were lifted from the mattress, his shoulders pressed into the pillows as Bucky pushed himself deeper and deeper. Stevie squirmed, gasping, panting, writhing, his short nails scraping across Bucky’s back as he felt himself filled and stretched.

Oh god this was happening. Oh god, it was better than he’d ever imagined. Bucky was  _ inside _ him, on top of him, filling him. He’d wanted this for so long, and now his hips rolled, desperate to take every last inch of him. Bucky panted softly. “Oh god, baby… That’s right, squirm for me.” His hands were like iron on his hips, letting him writhe, but keeping him in place. Not letting him get away. And slowly he started to draw back.

As Bucky picked up a rhythm, thrusting slowly at first, then more determined, he watched Stevie’s face, desperate for every flicker of pleasure and lust he could bring out of him. And Stevie was happy to oblige. He couldn’t have helped it if he wanted, the intensity of the pleasure was surreal, he had lost control of himself to the feral lust. Writhing, arching, clawing, his body desperate for every inch of him, desperate to be filled. Bucky adjusted his grip and suddenly Steve felt his lover brush something deep inside that stole every conscious thought. He cried out, his noises simply  _ sinful _ , and dug his fingers into Bucky’s shoulder, his legs tightening around his waist. He cried out and Bucky grinned, making sure to brush that spot again and again, mesmerized by the little crazed beast beneath him. 

“Bucky please, Bucky please!!” Steve panted, unable to divert enough brain function to do anything more than beg. He was an animal, and he was wild for him. 

Beads of sweat were forming on his brow and Bucky leaned down to kiss him, finding hunger and whimpers between begs. “You like that, baby? You want that? God Stevie I’ve wanted this for so long. I’ve wanted  _ you _ for so long.” His grip was tight, almost painful, possessive. He had his Stevie. He wasn’t going to let him go. He would  _ never _ let him go. 

Steve couldn’t speak, he could only plead in sounds that weren’t quite words, beg in a voice like a hungry animal, scratching, kissing, clawing, legs tight around his waist, arms pulling him down onto him. He was out of his mind, he was feral with lust, and he was loving every second of it. He felt the familiar tightening, the churning, the rise of heat in his blood and he heard his own cries take on a higher pitch. “More -- more --  _ more!! _ ” he begged and something broke inside of him. 

His body tensed and trembled, spurting rope after hot rope between their bodies, coating Bucky’s abdomen with his stickiness. “Oh god,  _ yes _ Stevie,” he heard, and the feverish rutting became harder, more frantic before Bucky too let out a low, animalistic groan and he felt himself be flooded. He was seeing stars, fireworks and his entire body trembled as he went limp beneath Bucky. 

Bucky thrust into his body a few more times before he too trembled and collapsed on top of him, panting against his neck and leaving soft kisses along his neck and face. Steve moaned softly, turning his face into the kisses to try and catch one on his lips. He smiled blearily.

“That… was better than an ice bath…” He admitted softly. 

“I warned you it was intense…” Bucky whispered, gently petting blond hair, kissing him slowly over and over again.

“Mmm… it was… Are you still drunk…?”

“A little. Are you still loopy on medicine?”

“A little,” Steve chuckled softly, smiling into the kisses. 

“Do you think it worked?” Bucky asked, suddenly serious.

Steve couldn’t feel anything past the way his heartbeat caused a pulse of pleasure through every vein, the way he could still feel Bucky inside of him. “I guess we’ll find out in the morning,” He admitted softly. “And if not, we’ll have to do it again.” Slowly he grinned. “Maybe we should do it again for good measure regardless… Make sure it  _ stays _ gone.”

Bucky grinned into his neck, gathering him up into his arms and holding him close. “Mmm… I think you’ve got the right idea, Sunshine…”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Cover Art] How To Break a Fever by RiskyWrites](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25592971) by [Nospheratt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nospheratt/pseuds/Nospheratt)




End file.
